


Spring in Brooklyn

by GodsHumbleClown



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Cats, Near Drowning, Water, drowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsHumbleClown/pseuds/GodsHumbleClown
Summary: This is a one-shot I did for the Newsies Amino Spring Challenge, and my first time trying some Canon-Era stuff!Hope you like it!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Canon Era Newsies One Shots





	Spring in Brooklyn

Spring.

It meant warmer weather for selling, it meant folks was out and about and in better mood, so they'd buy papes. 

Spring meant bunches a' cute little kids sellin' flowers to ladies on the street, and it meant rain, washing away the stink of the city. 

And in Brooklyn, at the pier, spring meant the occasional bag of dead kittens floating in the water.

Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies, hated spring. 

It had been a good day of selling though. Nice weather, a decent headline. The bunkhouse was going to be full tonight, that was for sure. Spot smiled at the knowledge that none of his boys would be sleeping on the streets. 

Speaking of his boys, he was interrupted by one of the younger ones, a redheaded little one named Birdy.

"Spot! Quick! Help!" The boy scrambled breathlessly to the base of Spot's favorite perch, where the leader was lazily flipping through a battered book that had been passed through just about everybody's hands by then. 

"Whatcha freakin' out about, Birdy?" One of the older boys laughed teasingly, but he looked up to Spot, silently asking if he should help the kid or not. The littles tended to find Spot for just about everything, from broken shoelaces to drunks harassing them. 

Their leader was more than willing to help, obviously, what kind of leader would he be if he didn't? But King of Brooklyn wasn't just a title, and he had other responsibilities too. Sometimes having a few of the older guys around to handle little problems was necessary. 

This time, however, Birdy had a problem that everyone knew Spot had a bit of a sore spot about. 

"Get Spot! Some guy threw a bag out inta tha' water an' it's still wigglin' around!"

That got Spot moving. The skinny twig of a boy monkeyed down the metal railing and dropped beside Birdy, now all business. 

"Quick. Show me." 

Birdy immediately started running, and Spot followed easily with his longer legs. 

_ Oh no.  _

Most all of the Brooklyn newsies could swim, being that they spent much of their time on the pier, but they knew where to avoid. Places where the water was dangerous, places a guy wouldn't be able to get out, even if he could swim like a fish. 

This little area was one of those places. A loading dock for smaller boats, lots of the smaller newsies liked to hang around there and watch the boats since the men working didn't chase them off.

The water looked safe enough, but Spot knew it wasn't. Undercurrents took you out and you never got back in. He'd heard stories of kids drowning there, seen one once. That was the worst experience of his fairly short life. He hadn't even known the kid, but watching him struggle in the water like that...

But the sack Birdy pointed at definitely had something alive in it, and it wouldn't be alive much longer if they didn't get it out. 

A small crowd of newsies had gathered by now, squawking and hollering and in general causing a ruckus. 

Spot couldn't just leave now, even if he wanted to. The leader of Brooklyn couldn't look like a coward. 

But  _ how  _ was he supposed to get it? Spot looked around, hiding his panic from the rest of the guys as best he could. 

There. A boat, tied to the pier. He could swim to that, and then grab the bag. As long as he kept a good grip on the side of the boat, he'd be fine. 

Not bothering to remove any clothing, Spot slid into the water, ignoring the excited roar from his newsies. This was quite possibly the most reckless thing Spot had ever done, and he'd done a lot of crazy things. 

The water immediately pulled him in the direction he wanted to go, so Spot only had to focus on keeping his head up and aiming for the bag, which was thankfully not moving that fast. 

He reached out and grabbed it, then pumped his legs to get to the boat. It was tied to the pier; just get to that and he'd be fine. 

Getting to it was easier said than done. Now Spot was fighting the water, and it looked like he might lose. 

Spot had learned to swim young; all Brooklyn newsies did, so he was strong and confident in the water. But this… this was a lot more than he was used to. 

He choked on a mouthful of water and nearly went under in panic. The boys on the pier started to shout, looking more and more concerned by the second. 

He was struggling, and they knew it. 

His eyes landed on Birdy, who looked absolutely panicked. 

_ No _ . He told himself. He would  _ not  _ die in front of him. Birdy would blame himself if Spot drowned, and the young leader was not going to let that happen. 

He pushed harder, still clutching the bag, which was worryingly still. Inch by inch, he grew closer to the pier. 

Finally, he reached his boys, and was greeted by a jungle of arms ready to help him out of the water. He grabbed the closest one and was heaved out, dripping wet and gasping, but still holding the bag. 

Spot scrambled onto the pier and immediately dumped the bag onto the wooden planks. Kittens, three of them. A few weeks old at most. 

He was immediately swarmed by a horde of chattering boys, making everything infinitely more difficult. 

"Get back, numbskulls! Stop crowdin'!" Spot ordered, and the newsies obeyed immediately. He turned his attention back to the little kittens. Damn, they were so tiny.

It was too late for one of them. A black scrap of fur with no life in it. Spot placed the fragile little body gently on the wooden planks and told himself not to look at it again. 

_ Take care of the live ones first. Then that one.  _

One of the live ones, a sturdy orange tabby, was already looking around, green eyes wide with surprise at being alive and surrounded by what was close to the entirety of Brooklyn's newsie population. He'd be fine, it was the black and white one that Spot was worried about.

The little thing was breathing, but barely. He picked it up, painfully aware that he had no idea what to do. What if he made it worse? Well, if he did nothing, the little female would probably die anyway. Might as well try  _ something.  _

He pushed on her chest gently, like he'd done far too many times when one of his human boys decided to swim out farther than they actually could. 

Just like with a half-drowned newsie, the little kitten coughed up more water than she reasonably should have been able to hold, and blinked weakly. 

The crowd of newsies cheered, breaking the unusual silence, and Spot sat back on his heels with a smile. 

Then he remembered something, glancing at the kitten he hadn't saved and feeling a stab of anger. 

"Hey. Can somebody get the, ah, other one?" He did his best to sound casual, not wanting to cause a general upset among the younger kids. Matchstick, one of his more trusted older newsies, nodded and picked up the unfortunate little heap. 

"I'll bury it in the park. Give the little guy a proper funeral, don't worry, Spotty." The leader nodded in approval, then turned back to the rest of the newsies. Better to distract the littles from what Matchstick was doing. 

Spot lifted the two living kittens above his head, one in each hand. 

"Well, boys! Looks like Brooklyn's got a couple 'a mascots!"

This announcement was greeted with more cheering, and then laughing like a tribe of demented hyenas as the black and white kitten sneezed. 

Spot laughed with them, then announced, "let's get these two back to the lodging house, they's gonna need food and names."

He hugged the black and white one against his chest, and reached out to Birdy with the orange one. The little boy's face lit up, surprised. 

"I can carry him?"

Spot laughed. 

"'Course ya can! You was the one who saw 'em! Without you, theyda been drowned!" 

This declaration was widely supported by the other newsies, who proceeded to cheer for Birdy, Spot, the kittens, and most of all for Brooklyn, the best borough in New York. 

Spot smiled. He loved his home.


End file.
